"Help!" Annabel shrieked abruptly.

"Do not move," Pierce countermanded the staff, jerking on her. The servants remained frozen like statues. Annabel refused to move her feet so he dragged her across the foyer. His glance could not help but take in the ballroom. Heads were turning/ Gasps were heard. Four hundred guests were becoming cognizant of the abduction of the bride.

Pierce himself could hardly believe what was happening. He propelled the now-silent Annabel and himself to the threshold of the foyer.

"Braxton!" Boothe cried from behind him in shock and disbelief.

Pierce halted, facing Annabel's father. "I will not hurt her. Do not move."

Boothe was incredulous, but anger quickly overcame him. "You son of a bitch! Release my daughter!" he shouted from the entrance to the ballroom.

A young man had come up beside him, as blond and blue-eyed as Annabel, clad in a tailcoat with a red carnation pinned to his lapel. "Oh, God!" he cried. "He is stealing my bride! Someone do something!" A dozen guests crowded behind him and Boothe now.

"As long as nobody moves, she will be returned to you no worse for wear," he said, briefly pointing the revolver at the crowd. Collectively they gasped.

Pierce replaced the muzzle of the pistol to Annabel's skull and dragged her out of the house.

"You will regret this," she cried, but now she was running with him of her own volition.

"I am sure that I will," he said. But he was not thinking about the bride. He had never signaled Louie from the second floor as had been the plan, but the backup plan had called for Louie to have the Packard waiting for a getaway in thirty minutes should Pierce fail to signal. He was certain that thirty-five minutes or so had elapsed, but the Packard was nowhere to be seen. Had Pierce had the luxury, he would have been in a state of severe disbelief. Louie had never let him down before.

"Damn it, Louie!" he said, hurrying with Annabel toward the drive.

"Who is Louie?" she gasped, tripping now over her skirts as he increased their pace.

Pierce had no intention of answering her, because the father of the bride, the groom, and at least a hundred guests were crowding the front door of the mansion, watching him as he fled with Annabel. And then, just past several parked coaches and waiting grooms, he saw the Packard. "Louie!" he roared.

And Louie saw him. The Packard had been idling, now it came to life, rolling. forward. Pierce ran to it, Annabel clamped to his side. When he reached the motorcar, he released her, pushing her away. She fell onto her hands and knees in the drive as he vaulted into the passenger seat. "Go!" he said, as Louie shifted gears. And he turned to look at her. Sweat was trickling into his eyes.

She was rising. Grass, dirt, and gravel now stained her wedding dress, and her blue eyes were wide. She faced him, and their gazes locked. The tiara she wore, which held her veil in place, was slipping.

Pierce was sorry that he had ruined her wedding. But since she was so reluctant to wed, maybe he had done her a favor. He couldn't help feeling an odd regret. There was nothing unfortunate about Annabel Boothe and she deserved a real man, not that milksop he had seen in the foyer.

And the Packard jerked, backfired, and stalled.

"Damn it." Pierce turned to Louie, incredulous.

Louie was leaping out, to crank up the engine again.

Pierce jumped into the driver's seat and shifted. Half a dozen gentlemen were running from the house toward him, including Boothe and the groom. Murder was justifiably upon their minds. And Annabel just stood there, a few feet from the motorcar, as if she had turned into a statue herself, watching them running toward her in her spoiled and stained wedding dress.

The engine roared to life.

"Get in!" Pierce shouted at Louie.

Louie was already racing for the passenger door, but Annabel had turned and seemed to be doing the exact same thing. Pierce could not believe his eyes as the two of them collided. "Christ. Get in, Louie!" he roared.

They separated, Louie tripping on Annabel's voluminous skirts. Pierce watched the pack of men coming closer-they were twenty yards away. And then a flurry of white landed in the seat beside him, followed by his driver, who leapt upon Annabel. As she shoved Louie to the floor, Pierce slammed down the gas pedal, gritting his teeth, filled with anger, the veil flying in his face. He brushed the transparent material out of his eyes as the Packard leapt forward, spitting out stones from beneath its tires.

This was unbelievable.

The Packard sped wildly around the circular drive. A horse reared, backing up in terror, pushing its coach into another carriage.

Gripping the steering wheel with two hands, his gaze glued on the straightaway and Fifth Avenue, beyond that, Pierce saw, from the corner of his eye, Louie righting himself in the same seat as the bride. And then they were shooting through the wide-open front gates. Tires screeched as he turned the Packard so hard to the left that two wheels briefly lost contact with the ground.

Annabel was huffing and puffing and pushing her veil out of her face and eyes. She did not look at him. Her cheeks were very red.

But Louie did, absolute amazement on his face, along with an obvious question.

He was driving very fast, passing carriages, wagons, a hansom, and a cyclist. The Holland House, one of the city's most fashionable hotels, was on their right. A liveried doorman was standing in the street to wave down a cab, and a pair of gentlemen were attempting to cross on the same corner of Thirtieth Street. A dray was also trying to cross Fifth Avenue. Driving was taking almost all of his concentration. Casting one brief glance of steel at the very flushed bride, he said, "Throw her out."

"Aye, aye, guvnor," Louie replied.

Chapter Two

Annabel gripped the smooth dark leather seat of the motorcar as the thief drove like a madman down Fifth Avenue, weaving in between coaches and carriages, wagons and drays. She was coming out of her champagne-induced daze. She could barely believe what was happening-that she had left her groom at the altar, with her family and friends and several hundred of New York 's most prominent members of society. Oh, God.

But a small smile formed on her lips.

And then he commanded Louie to throw her out of the motorcar.

His harsh words made her whip her head around to stare at him in a combination of amazement and dismay. Had she misheard?

"Throw her out," he said again, as firmly.

The expression on her father's face-and her fiance's- as they stared at her in the foyer while the thief dragged her out of the house seared itself upon her mind. She recalled the sight of the several hundred shocked and gaping guests. Her pulse raced with alarming speed. Her fingers dug more deeply into the leather seat. She was not going anywhere.

She had made her choice. She could not marry Harold Talbot. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. This was, must be, fate.

Louie's hands closed upon her shoulders.

Annabel realized what was happening and cried out as the motorcar veered wildly to the curb and came to an abrupt halt, throwing them all toward the dashboard. "Now!" the Brit shouted at his small, wizened partner.

Annabel was jerked onto Louie's lap. Her chin hit the door. His intention, presumably, was to open the door and thrust her out onto the street.

"No!" Annabel cried, jerking free of his grip immediately, pulling back and rearing up on her knees, one fist raised. She slammed it into his face, not thinking, just fighting for her freedom-for her life.

Louie's head slapped backward, his eyes rolling shut, his body going limp.

"Jesus!" the thief cried.

Even Annabel was surprised, although she knew that she was stronger than most women, for she was constantly walking, riding, bicycling, swimming, and playing tennis. But her shock only lasted a moment, because the thief grabbed her, now undoubtedly harboring the exact same intention as Louie.